Toying With Love
by portalkeeper
Summary: A short series on unexpected romance. B & S...but not BS.
1. Plush

A/N: Set a few years after season 7, ignoring any AtS spoilers and such. A slightly unconventional pairing. Don't take it seriously folks; this is just for laughs.

Buffy Anne Summers was perfectly happy. Why shouldn't she be? The Hellmouth in Sunnydale was closed for good, and with all those Slayers around to guard the one in Cleveland, she could finally live a normal life. She'd managed to finish college herself, and even scrounged up enough money to send Dawn off just a year ago. She'd found a well-paying steady job not involving fast food in any way, shape or form, _and_ she had a wonderful little top-floor apartment on the outskirts of LA, well within taxi distance to her closest friends. And Giles was but a phone call away.

What more could she ask for?

***

"Buffy needs a guy in her life," Xander announced, plopping onto the couch, beer in hand. "Right, Will?"

The redheaded witch shrugged. "Not necessarily a _guy_," she said with a smile, "but I know what you mean. She needs a someone."

Xander nodded. "Right. A significant other. Best if it was someone she knew. Buff's not so much for making new relationships work these days."

They sat there for a moment in silence.

"You wanna call or should I?"

***

Ding-DONG!

With a growl that rivaled that of the creatures she was sworn to slay, Buffy disentangled herself from the covers, quickly stuffing the toy in the pile of sheets.

Ding-DONG!

"Coming!" she yelled, pulling on her discarded pajamas.

Padding across the cold wooden floor to the door, the Slayer grumbled non-stop under her breath. Who the heck was stupid enough to knock on her door in the middle of the night? Didn't they know what she was going to do to them for pulling her out of her warm, cozy bed?

She swung the door open. And her jaw dropped in shock.

Tall, dark and handsome. The king of brooding, dressed in his usual black wool overcoat and slathered with copious amounts of hair gel.

"Hey, Buffy. Mind if I come in?"

The Slayer managed to close her mouth. "Uh, sure, Angel. Come on in."

She led the way to her clean kitchen. "Can I get you something? Coffee? Hot chocolate?"

Her ex shook his head.

Buffy shrugged and fixed herself a cup of Java. Taking a sip, she gagged and dumped it in the sink.

"So, what's up? What demon do you need help killing?"

Angel shook his head.

"So…no demon. Apocalypse then?"

He shook his head again.

Buffy blinked. "So, what? You couldn't have just stopped by for a cuppa. 'Cause you didn't want one."

Angel gave her a brooding, soulful look and opened his mouth to speak.

The Slayer grinned. "How many times have you been practicing _that_ look in front of the mirr—uh…never mind. Do carry on."

Her first boyfriend gave what looked very much like a glare in her general direction before continuing.

"Is the cookie dough baked yet?"

The coffee cup smashed on the counter.

"_What?! _Is _that_ why you came knocking on my door in the middle of the night? _To ask me out?_"

During this mini-tirade, the Slayer had gotten up and begun to advance on the hapless vampire. He was being backed up against the kitchen sink—right by Buffy's collection of shiny metallic utensils.

"I-I wanted to make you happy, that's all."

Wrong choice of words.

"Happy? _Happy? _You left me because you supposedly wanted me to have a normal, happy life. How is this going to be normal or happy?"

"Uh…"

Now she grabbed a fork and jabbed it in his general direction as she continued. "If I wanted normal, I'd go crawling back to Riley. And for your information, I. Already." Each of her words was punctuated by a jab. "Have. Someone. To. Enjoy. Me!"

Thunk.

The fork was driven two inches into the plaster wall.

The Slayer smoothed back her hair. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going back to bed."

***

Willow hung up the phone, a grim expression on her face.

"No go."

Xander just shrugged. "We still have another chance."

***

Buffy reached for her keys. She'd just inserted the right one when she heard a noise coming from inside the apartment.

Carefully slipping out a switchblade from her boot (she'd meant to return it to Xander eventually), the Slayer threw open the door—

—and almost collided with a tall, broad-shouldered man in camouflage. Still farm-fresh, an endearing smile on his face, his form silhouetted by the brilliant sunshine pouring from the ceiling.

"Woah," he said, taking a step back and slowly raising his hands. "Hi, Buffy."

"What's up?" the Slayer demanded, not lowering the sharp implement. "Do you need my help with tracking again? Some other demon I can't kill so that you can dissect them back at the secret lab?"

"Secret lab?"

"You know what I'm talking about. I bet your wife's there now, with those other secret commando people, doing secr—"

"Buffy, we divorced last year."

"Oh." The Slayer looked embarrassed for a moment. "…Hey, why's it so bright in here?" She squinted up at the ceiling. "I don't remember a skylight."

Agent Finn cringed. Maybe that hadn't been the smartest idea…

"_You knocked a hole in my ceiling?_"

The knife was suddenly much closer than was comfortable.

"Do you have any idea how much the rent on this place is? Do you have any idea how much my landlady is going to kill me?"

The knife was now only inches away.

"Buffy," Riley managed to say, pushing the knife away very gingerly. "Sorry about that, but I have more important things to talk to you about."

The Slayer momentarily paused in her mission to make shish-kebob commando in the living room and looked up expectantly.

"Well…I was wondering…would you like to have a cup of coffee?"

Thunk.

The knife made a gouge very much like that of the fork in the kitchen that Buffy still hadn't managed to dislodge.

"You came to _ask me out?_ And you figured the best way to do that would be by destroying my house?"

"But…I…I love you, Buffy! I'll-I'll do whatever you say!"

The Slayer rolled her eyes in disgust. "If I wanted the love-sick puppy act, I'd never have broken up with Spike. Now get out of what's left of my apartment!"

***

Xander replaced the receiver.

"No luck?"

He shook his head, dejected. "And that was our last chance, Will."

But Willow had a thoughtful look on her face.

"Maybe. Maybe not."

***

Bang. BANG!

"Oi! Open up, Slayer!"

Buffy frowned, a slice of buttered toast halfway to her mouth. She didn't know what exactly she'd been expecting with the events of the past two days, but she certainly hadn't been expecting to hear _this_ particular voice. She stood, coffee still in hand.

"Bloody hell! Slayer, I know you're in there!"

Getting more and more curious—not to mention more and more confused—, Buffy cautiously eased open the door.

A man with hair so bright that it could render people blind stared back at her. One with cheekbones that could cut through solid steel.

"_Spike?_"

He grinned sheepishly. "Uh, yeah. Funny thing—"

The brimming cup of hot coffee hurtling at his very bleached head cut him off quite effectively.

"I'm sick and tired of all you people just waltzing into my personal space. I don't know why you're here…or why you're alive for that matter…and I don't really care. Now _get out of my apartment!_"

Spike shook off the momentary confusion. "Uh, I was just—"

"What, you were going to rag on me for that whole 'I love you' thing? Were you going to ask me out like those other two dolts? And-and besides, I wasn't the one who told me I was lying last time, so there!"

She paused to take a deep breath. "And what the hell are you doing here in the first place? Why aren't you dead?"

"Uh…that's what I was getting at, love. I kind of woke up a few hours ago in Red's living room, of all places. She said you were here."

"Oh." Now she felt like an idiot. "Uh, sorry for the coffee. It's just that all my ex's are showing up every freaking day this week, trying to ask me out. I just assumed…yeah. Come in. And, sorry. Again. And remind me to kill Willow."

She reached for her handy broom and dustpan, and within minutes the living room was all spick-and-span.

"So…"

The Slayer's head snapped up. "So? So what?"

"You want to go have a drink sometime?"

For the third time that week, the neighbors made good use of their earplugs and tried to ignore the tines and blades of kitchen utensils sticking out of their papered walls.

***

Buffy sighed, clicking her bedroom door shut. 

"Stupid guys."

Changing for bed, she buried herself under the covers, snuggling up to her significant other.

"What a pathetic bunch. Thinking that I'd ever want any of _them_ back. All they can think about is asking me out. I bet all they want is the sex."

The Slayer clicked off the bedside lamp.

"Oh sure, they all _said_ they loved me. Which is why they all ended up leaving me in the end, which happened to be after the sex hit a decline. But you—"

She snuggled more deeply into her ever-faithful lover.

"—_You_ would never leave me. In all these years, you're the only one that's never left. I can tell you everything and not worry that you're going to judge me, like those guys. You know everything there is to know about me, and you _still_ haven't left."

The Slayer sighed contentedly, a smile blossoming on her face. 

"I love you, Mr. Gordo."

A/N: This idea came from a crazy conversation I had with a certain Shadow Flange (Go read her latest fic! It's BtVS!). Yes, there was not much plot. And yes, the little plot there was has been ravaged by plot holes. But I just _had_ to get this out.

It was going to be a parody. It was supposed to be funny. But mostly it ended up a little more disgusting than I usually write my fics. 

By the way…this is the first of a trilogy…but only if people aren't completely disgusted. And the other two chapters don't have the same pairing, I swear. Please give me feedback!


	2. Porcelain

A/N: This takes place somewhere in S2, between "School Hard" and "What's My Line." It's a Spike story. Another somewhat unconventional pairing, which (I hope) has never and will never occur. Enjoy!

"A tea party, my Spike. Let's have a tea party with Miss Edith. The other dollies have all been very wicked, so they can't come. It'll be such fun to see them aflame with jealousy."

He felt the last bit of his patience drain away, like water down a drain. He'd put up with being dressed up, with playing along with whatever whims Dru had at the moment.

But a bloody tea party? No, he hadn't yet sunk that low.

"Come on, dear. We can sing and dance till the pixies drop dead, the three of us."

Those were the wrong words for her to say. A repressed memory fought to emerge and an old grudge, not one against Drusilla, surfaced.

"Get along without me, Dru. I'm a bit knackered. Think I'll head off to bed first," he stated shortly.

Ignoring her pout, he turned and headed for the interior bedchamber. Maybe he could find a minion to pick a fight with, clear his head a little. But of course they were off finding the next meal. 

Besides, it was probably just an overdose of peroxide fumes that was wearing his patience so thin. After all, what were a few old words anyway?

"Fine!" the inhumanly high screech came from the entranceway. "Go away, you bad, bad boy!" 

And then the small, blunt weight hit him squarely in the back of his bleached head.

"Dru!" he snarled, but she'd already departed for elsewhere. Only the mocking face of Miss Edith stared up at the vampire from the concrete floor, her skirts askew from being used as a projectile weapon.

With a sigh that could've doubled for a growl, Spike picked up the offending object and stalked through the bedroom door, slamming the wood so hard that it almost rattled off its hinges. 

Tossing the doll onto Dru's side of the bed, he began to pace. 

"Bloody Slayer. 'S all her fault."

If it wasn't for _her_ he'd be kissing Sunnyhell goodbye and tailing it to France with his beloved Dru. She wouldn't be asking for a sodding tea party. And he wouldn't be letting her ramblings get to him.

Yes, it was the Slayer's fault. Everything wrong could be blamed on that stupid girl. Indeed, she was a very good scapegoat for all vampire problems. Now to butcher the creature and bathe in its blood. 

That would have to wait.

Heaving another sigh, the vampire sprawled across the bedspread, oblivious of the porcelain doll crushed against his chest. He reached for the secret cache of Scotch under the bed frame…

***

Groaning, he groped about blindly for his spectacles, certain they'd curb the brain-splitting headache pounding inside his skull.

Then he realized he hadn't worn glasses for more than a hundred years. Yeah, that was right. He settled for feeling the surroundings for other things. Okay, there were sheets. Covers. A bed. That's right, he was on a bed. 

Dru's bed. The parts not drenched in Scotch smelled faintly of her.

Now, what was he doing drunk in bed? Where was Dru?

Then he smelled her. She lay amidst the bed sheets, cradled into his coat. His fingers touched her long curls, her porcelain skin. She felt so…vulnerable. So…_small._

_I've probably had a little more Scotch than I should have. Senses are all distorted._

"There you are, ducks," he mumbled, continuing to stroke her cold body and taking in her smell. He was too hung over to think about opening his eyes, but that was okay. His olfactory senses weren't the least bit impaired.

A quick tumble was what he wanted, something to clear his head and get rid of the after-effects of drinking. Although God knows why he was drinking in the first place. Dru usually didn't like it. Still, a few shags and he would win her over, right quick.

But she wasn't responding to his ministrations, being just as cold and hard as when he first found her in the tumbled sheets.

_Guess she's still upset about the inebriation. _

"I'll get rid of the Scotch this time, promise."

Gently turning her unresponsive body, he kissed her curls and drank in her scent. At least she was letting him continue and not clawing or shoving him away. Maybe Spike had a chance after all.

But he was still too intoxicated to properly make love to his Dark Princess. He couldn't even find an opening in her silk gown with his fumbling fingers. All those petticoats…

The vampire sighed in defeat, stroking her soft, soft curls.

"Sorry, love. Maybe something else? Once I get woken up proper I'll make it up to you."

She still didn't say anything, but she didn't turn away, either. That was a good sign…

Then, feeling her silky curls against his fingers, Spike had an idea.

"I've got a proposal. If you don't like it, just speak up, love…"

***

Drusilla figured her naughty little boy had learned his lesson. And besides, she'd lost Miss Edith and needed him to find her.

When she got to the door she paused, turning up her delicate nose at the stench of liquor.

What a naughty, naughty boy! Drinking that vile alcohol on their bed. He needed to be spanked, that was for sure. She pushed the door open and glided through. 

And stopped dead, her gray eyes growing wider and wider.

And then she screamed.

***

Her scream brought him out of his half-waking stupor. His eyes snapped open and looked from the doorway to…to the opened zipper of his jeans.

The slightly sticky doll dropped to the ground.

Dru ran shrieking from the chamber.

Miss Edith smiled up at him, a smug-looking little smirk peeping out from her disheveled raiment. 

"Oh, bollocks."

A/N: I love Spuffy. Really. But too much Spuffy has been making me off those characters when I do that particular pairing. So the next chapter will remain non-Spuffy, where hopefully the main characters don't die.


End file.
